


A Group Which Did Became Histrionic

by got_spunk



Series: bring on the revolution [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, The Beginning of the End, foreshadowing foreshadowing foreshadowing, i am the best at titles, in which things start to go wrong, you get the picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/got_spunk/pseuds/got_spunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Guys, everything is going to be fine,” Courfeyrac assured them both doggedly. “We’re all focused – even R, once he shuts up – and we’re all ready to go.”</p><p>Combeferre would later remark that it only took two days to prove Courfeyrac wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> this is the chapter before stage 1 of the meltdown happens.
> 
> consider yourself warned.
> 
> also, first bit stolen shamelessly from a post on tumblr that i now can no longer find. someone link it to me, i want to kiss whoever made that post, it's a beautiful, beautiful post.
> 
> UPDATE: I FOUND THE SOURCE! THANK YOU, TUMBLR USER [youcan'tcancelquidditch](http://youcantcancelquidditch.tumblr.com/) FOR YOUR BEAUTIFUL HEADCANON!

“The fact of the matter is that – ”

“SOURCE!”

“ – that these people have completely – ”

“SOURCE!”

“ – completely underestimated the – ”

“S – ”

With a kind of benevolent exasperation, Cosette flicked Grantaire’s ear and settled back into Jehan’s lap, returning R’s betrayed scowl with a little one-shoulder shrug. Enjolras continued as before, looking marginally less murderous, and Combeferre relaxed.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to Cosette, but her eyes were trained on Enjolras, nodding slightly. Combeferre smiled. Marius had worried initially, but Courfeyrac had downright threatened them all with disembowelment if they didn’t immediately fall in love with Cosette.

“She’s lonely,” he’d insisted. “You can tell.” And then he’d proceeded to hover around Cosette like she was an abandoned fledgling, much to Marius’ amusement, and, as they all got to know Cosette, the rest of the group saw why.

Cosette could handle herself just fine. She’d found a place in the group’s dynamics without much trouble at all, and she’d bonded spectacularly with most everyone, but Enjolras especially. Combeferre had been somewhat surprised (and perhaps a tad possessive, if he was being completely honest), but he breathed a little bit easier knowing he had someone else watching their fearless leader as closely as he was – not as a god, but as a human being with limitations and needs and feelings.

Perhaps, Combeferre thought, the reason they got along so well was because, like Cosette, Enjolras was an incredibly formidable person who also happened to be incredibly lonely.

The meeting ended, and Cosette immediately leapt up to talk to Enjolras. Combeferre made a couple of notes and pulled up the format for the recap email on his laptop. With everyone’s schedules, it was nearly impossible to have everyone at every meeting. Feuilly had mentioned it once, citing his frustration with balancing studying and multiple jobs _and_ saving the world, and thus, the ABC newsletter had been born. He checked the attendance list and sighed.

Marius had never exactly been a consistent member, so multiple absences from him were hardly a surprise – but Éponine, and by extension, Gavroche, never missed too many meetings unless they absolutely had to. Grantaire had already disappeared, and while Gavroche idolized Bahorel, Bahorel wasn’t the best with communication. That left Courfeyrac, who had just ducked out, but maybe Combeferre could catch him before he’d gotten too far –

Courfeyrac was pacing just outside, brow furrowed and free hand shoved in his pocket. Combeferre’s mouth clamped shut.

"Oh, come on!" his friend was insisting. "I can handle pick up and drop off duty, I’ve done it loads of times. Put it this way - it's less time for your secret vampire boyfriend to bully him into helping out with Mafia stuff."

A pause in which Courfeyrac bit his lip. Combeferre crossed his arms against the cold, uneasy.

"It saves you gas money,” his friend pointed out and then winced, amending hastily, “It’s not charity. Jesus, Ponine. He could sleepover if he wanted to, like he used to. We’ve got too much damn popcorn, anyway." Another pause. Courfeyrac’s jaw tightened as his breath fogging in the chilly air. "No, but _he_ is," he said emphatically.

Combeferre hung back, unsure if Courfeyrac would want him to be listening in.

"You could come over, too, you know," Courfeyrac offered after a moment, chewing on the knuckle of his thumb, and something in his voice let Combeferre know that no, yeah, this was not something he needed to hear, he needed to give him some privacy, but just as he was about to nip back inside, Courfeyrac turned and jumped.

“Sorry,” Combeferre mouthed. Courfeyrac waved him off, shaking his head.

"I will,” he said into the phone, one finger held up to keep Combeferre there. “See you later?” He made a face then dropped the phone from his ear. “She hung up,” he explained irritably, but he sighed. “Whatcha need, Momma C?”

“Nothing, if that was what I think it was,” Combeferre replied apologetically. “Are Éponine and Gavroche all right?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac answered. “I guess. Gavroche’ll be at the next meeting, in any case, driven by _moi_.” Combeferre hesitated.

“Are _you_ all right?” he asked. Courfeyrac gave him an odd look.

“I’m fine,” he said slowly. “But thanks for asking.” He seemed to be wavering, but then the door to Musain’s swung open and out poured a crowd of their friends. Bahorel, Joly and Bossuet, cracking up over Bossuet’s latest tale of misfortune and woe; Feuilly and Bahorel, arguing good-naturedly about soccer (“It’s football,” Feuilly would rebuke him dolefully. “Not soccer, Combeferre, football”); and lastly, Cosette and Jehan, both flushed pink and grinning.

“Okay, okay, tonight _, Downton Abbey_ marathon – ”

“And I will make scones – ”

“And I have the tea _covered_ , believe me – hold on, I’ll catch up to you in a sec.”

Jehan jogged after Bahorel. Cosette lingered behind.

“Will you do me a favor and let Marius know I need to cancel our lunch plans when you see him?” she asked Courfeyrac. “I’ve tried texting him and calling him, but he won’t respond.”

“Pontmercy does not know how a phone works,” Courfeyrac replied. “I gotcha. No worries.”

“Thanks, Courf,” Cosette chirruped, and after pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and shooting Combeferre a smile so infectious he couldn’t help but smile back, she ran off, long hair trailing behind her. Courfeyrac waved, but he seemed troublingly distant.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Combeferre asked. His friend rolled his eyes.

“Yes, _Mom_ ,” he teased, but the hand that clutched his phone was white-knuckled. Combeferre wasn’t sure if Courfeyrac realized it. “I’ll see you later – I’m going to go track down Pontmercy. Everything’s _fine_ ,” he added when Combeferre shot him a look. “We’ve got a protest in a week, worry about _that_ if you have to worry about something.”

“He has a point,” a voice said dryly behind him. Enjolras, wrapping a scarf around his neck, joined them. “One week. I hope we’re ready.” Courfeyrac slung an arm around their fearless leader’s neck, hooking Combeferre in with his other one. Enjolras, slighter than Courfeyrac, bore this with a kind of resigned patience; Combeferre, who’d hit six-one junior year, had to stoop.

“Guys, everything is going to be _fine_ ,” Courfeyrac assured them both doggedly. “We’re all focused – even R, once he shuts up – and we’re all ready to go.”

Combeferre would later remark that it only took two days to prove Courfeyrac wrong.


	2. Lo, The Meltdown Cometh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heigh-ho, honesty hour:
> 
> i am not pleased with this at all. to be honest, i haven't been really happy with much of anything i've written lately, but i'm trying to push through it, because i'm a stubborn little doofus and because i know if i can just get to a certain point, things are going to start to flow more naturally again. i just have to get there. it's partly because i'm on a bit of a downward swing mood-wise - which, you know, it'll end, but it's no fun, and i hate crying all over the place, or worse, not being able to cry all over the place, because feelings are weird and i would like them to stop now, please.
> 
> anyway.
> 
> the more you know.
> 
> honesty hour over.
> 
> actual note for this chapter: this starts super abruptly, just roll with it, please.

_Hi, it's -_

_(a giggle. Something that sounds like a muffled, "Marius, stop it!")_

_It's Cosette. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Here comes the beep!_  

_(a beep)_

_Hi, Cosette - it's Papa. Do you want to meet for lunch today? Father Myriel's been ill, and I decided to visit him, and you're on my way if you wanted some post-exam-celebratory-ice-cream. I'm so proud of you. And. And there are some things I'd like to talk about it. If you have time. I know you're very busy. My grown up college girl._

_Love you, little bird. Call me back, please._

_~_

“My mother,” Cosette repeated, tea cooling by her hand. Her father nodded.

“Yes.”

“My mother,” Cosette said again, trying out the words. “She wants to see me.”

“I know it’s a bit out of the blue – ”

“Um, yeah, it’s a bit out of the blue,” Cosette interrupted, heart pounding in her ears. She stood up with the pretext of warming her tea, letting her father clasp his hands on her couch. They’d only been back from what had seemed like a _totally normal lunch_ for half an hour, but it already felt like she could divide her life into before and after, and it was starting to squeeze her lungs a bit. Half an hour ago, she’d been nervous about telling him about Marius. Half an hour ago, she’d been planning to suggest they all go out to dinner together before the _Downton_ marathon, so that her father could meet Marius and do the dad thing and be _normal_.  “Why does she want to meet me?” she demanded. Her father blinked.

“Because…this is a very long story, Cosette.”

She gave up on warming the tea and dumped it out. Sucking on the insides of her cheeks, she poured herself a new mug.

“Okay,” she said as calmly as she could. “Okay. Can I ask a couple of questions?”

“Ask away,” her father said gently, and if she hadn’t understood the gravity of the situation before, she did now, because her father hated questions. “I know this is a lot to handle.”

“Why hasn’t she contacted me in the last twenty years?” was what Cosette intended to say, but what came out instead was, “What’s her name?”

“Fantine,” Papa answered, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Fantine,” she repeate. She wasn’t sure just what she expected – that maybe saying the name would connect her to this woman who had given birth to her, had carried her within her body for nine months. But no, it was just an unfamiliar name. A stranger’s name.

_No no no I’d just figured things out no no no_

She leaned her hip against the counter, clutching at her tea like a lifeline. She could feel her father watching her intently, could feel his anxiety and concern, but she could not for the life of her meet his eyes, not when she wasn’t sure what she would find there.

“Why now?” she asked quietly. Her father looked down at his hands, studying them as if the answer were cupped between them.

“Cosette,” he said at last, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Cosette remembered very little of her life before third grade beyond a few nightmares and a few random and disjointed memories that surfaced occasionally; she’d been told that she’d spent a while in the foster care system, and she’d accepted that even if that time of her life was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. It used to worry Papa, she recalled, but after a couple of trips to a therapist, she’d been deemed totally normal, if a little underdeveloped in areas like socializing with her peers. She’d skipped from school to school, from state to state all her life, and that, combined with a natural shyness had meant she was mostly a solitary child. But it was all right, because no matter where she went, Papa was right beside her.

She knew she was adopted. Her father had told her when she was eighteen – “You’re an adult now, you’re leaving,” he’d explained, as if his hands weren’t shaking, as if his eyes weren’t too bright. “You have a right to know.” – and for the most part, she thought she’d handled it well. They’d both cried, yes, (her mostly because he was crying, and Cosette could never bear to see him in pain) but at the end of the day, he was her Papa. Nothing changed that, not really. He’d just been upset – so upset that a part of her had wondered, _Is this the whole truth?_ But he was just _so upset_ , and pushing it any further felt cruel. Now…now she almost wished she’d pushed, because hearing this _now_ , now when she was starting to make actual friends, friends she could see herself keeping, friends that had somehow become her family just as surely as Marius had, this felt far crueler.

“She fell into a bad way,” her father admitted and Cosette swallowed. “She never wanted to leave you, Cosette, of that I’m sure, but she got sick, and she had no way to support herself, much less a baby.” He steepled his hands. “So she put you up for adoption and tried to get her life together.”

Cosette nodded, processing.

“And now she wants to – to what? Build a relationship?”

“Just to see you, for now,” Papa amended quietly. “But only if you’re comfortable with it and only if you want to.” Cosette sat down her mug of tea, which had cooled like the other one. Her father stood and walked over to rub her arms. “You don’t have to make this decision now.” He laughed, a little nervously. “It was a shock to me, too. An email, out of nowhere, from a woman I knew for a month and a half, maybe.”

“You knew her,” Cosette stated. He nodded.

“She was young,” he murmured. “Very young. And scared.”

 _Like me_ , Cosette thought suddenly, and her heart flopped. Without a word, her father drew her to him, and though she didn’t let herself cry, not just yet, she buried her head into his broad chest like the answer was there, beating somewhere next to her cheek, like it always had been.

~

Courfeyrac shut the door behind him, shrugging off his coat.

“Marius?” he called. He could see his friend’s key lanyard on the table, which meant he was in, maybe sleeping. “Marius, you awake?”

“In here,” came the reply. _Thank God._

“Do you want to cuddle?” Courfeyrac asked plaintively as he walked to the bedroom. “I am in need of major cuddling, bro, we need to cuddle this out, like full on I fall asleep on you, you fall asleep on me, okay? Don’t ask, just do.” He stuck his head in, preparing to flash the ol’ puppy dog eyes, but instead he found Marius, sitting on the bed with his back to the door, shoulders slumped. “Marius?”

“My grandfather called,” Marius said by way of explanation, and Courfeyrac shut up.

He still wasn’t exactly sure what was going on with Marius and his family – he knew that his dad had been a war veteran, that he’d died recently, that Marius’ grandfather had done something awful that Marius refused to disclose, and that he’d been estranged from him for about a year. Other than that one phone conversation he’d walked in on – and who would have thought that Marius could yell like that? – Courfeyrac had made a point of respecting Marius’ wishes and just not bringing it up.

And so this was a little unexpected.

“Actually, I called him,” Marius continued without prompting. “Scratch that: I called him _again_. Because I’m an idiot.” Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, blowing out his cheeks.

“I take it it didn’t go so hot?” he asked quietly. Marius shook his head mutely. Courfeyrac watched him for a moment, chest aching, before he crawled onto the bed and hugged Marius fiercely. “Bad news: Cosette wanted me to tell you that she can’t do lunch today – ”

“She texted me.”

“BUT _good_ news: we are taking a mental health afternoon.”

Marius started to pull away.

“I have Spanish – ”

“ _Lo siento, mi amigo, necesitas_ – uh – I don’t know the word for a mental health afternoon, sorry.”

“Courfeyrac – ”

“Don’t fight it,” Courf said sternly, but the other boy tensed.

 “No, like, really, _don’t touch me right now_.”

“Aw, Marius – ”

Without warning, Marius squirmed away, face stormy.

“I’m going to Spanish,” he said pointedly. Courfeyrac sat back, his hands in his lap, feeling ashamed and like a douchebag and also a little peeved. “I’m not coming to the meeting tonight.”

“Yeah, well, big surprise,” Courfeyrac muttered under his breath before he could stop himself, and Marius’ nostrils flared passionately.

“I’ll see you later,” he snapped, and out he stalked. A few stomps and then the front door slammed shut.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said to the empty room. “Later, I guess.”

All right, so he’d managed to pick a fight with Éponine _and_ Marius. Lovely. Fantastic. He was the greatest friend in the world. And he still had no one to cuddle with.

Resisting the urge to bury his head in the mattress and scream, he pulled out his phone.

 _do u mind if i crash ur british people party?_ he texted Jehan. _bad day :(_

 _sure!_ came the almost instantaneous reply. _sorry you’re having a bad day. i think cosette is, too._

Courfeyrac frowned.

_y?_

_she just called and said she couldn’t come because her dad’s in town. feuilly said she sounded upset._

_weird,_ Courfeyrac typed out. He was half-tempted to text Cosette himself, ask her what was wrong, but no, he needed to recharge. He would just be extra nice to her at the meeting - and since Pontmercy wasn't going, maybe he'd see if she wanted to go out, do something fun. He didn't like the idea of her cooped up and miserable by herself. Although if her dad was in town, maybe she wanted to just stay in? And he would just be annoying her? He winced, letting himself tip over to lay on his side, his heavy curls falling off his forehead. He would recharge. And then he'd make things right with Éponine and Marius. And then he would figure out what to do about their Disney princess. _  
_

 _i'm probably going to have combeferre drop by her apartment to see if she wants a ride to the meeting,_  Jehan replied.  _but for now: bring popcorn and brace yourself for death by cuddling._ Courfeyrac smiled. Jean Provaire, king among men.

_done n done._

He grabbed his coat on the way out, two boxes of popcorn in hand.

~

Enjolras paced in Combeferre’s kitchen, tapping his phone against his palm.

“Are you _sure_ you can’t do it?” he asked Combeferre, who was refreshing the bowl of popcorn. His friend sighed.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sorry, Enjolras, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Would you guys be quiet?” Jehan demanded indignantly from the couch, twisting around to glare at them both. “There are significant looks happening, and _we are missing important subtext_.” Enjolras opened his mouth, but Courfeyrac interrupted him.

“The subtext, of course, being how far they can romanticize an oppressive and outdated institution that should have died out years before it did,” he said in an uncanny impression of Enjolras. With a strangled noise of outrage, Jehan walloped him with the pillow he’d been hiding his face in as on the laptop screen, Dame Maggie Smith gave someone a withering look not unlike the one their fearless leader was leveling at Courfeyrac.

 “ _Anyway_ ,” Enjolras said pointedly, “why can’t Feuilly go?”

Feuilly turned a page in his book, accepted the bowl of popcorn that Combeferre passed him, and scribbled in his notebook, glancing up as he did so.

 “I have a job, Enjolras,” he sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m doing a double shift that day. I would if I could.”

“I know you would,” Enjolras assured him, but he rubbed at his face, pointedly ignoring the way Courfeyrac had turned around to make obnoxious faces at him. Yes, fine, maybe he had a bit of a soft spot for Feuilly (and maybe he had kind of sort completely gone on a tangent about him in the middle of a speech, but he was putting himself through college completely by himself and juggling three different jobs plus classes plus the Amis, never mind successfully navigating the foster care system, and on top of all that, his origami was _awe-inspiring_ ). “It’s just that it’s in a week.”

Combeferre, looking careworn, squeezed himself in between Jehan and Courfeyrac, and snagged a bit of popcorn.

“It can wait until the meeting,” Jehan growled before shoving his face in his pillow with a strangled choking noise and wailing, “NO, MARY, BABY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, STOP.”

“We need a few more volunteers,” Enjolras said to no one in particular. “Just a few more.”

“OH, GOD, YOU TWO ARE SO OBLIVIOUS, DAMMIT, JUST ADMIT YOU LOVE EACH OTHER.”

“I think Jehan’s right. Save it until the meeting,” Courfeyrac said, cocking his head at the television screen. “Hold up, why are they dancing? Isn’t the mom sick?”

“‘YOU ARE MY STICK,’ FUCKING _HELL_ , I’M DONE. I’M DONE.”

“If you can’t enjoy this using your inside voice, we’re turning it off,” Combeferre said mildly. A pillow smacked him directly in the face. When it was removed, his glasses were slightly askew and his expression was equal parts tired and disgusted.

“ _Calm_ ,” Feuilly intoned.

“Not a chance,” Courfeyrac told him as Jehan burst into tears.

“NO, NO, NO, WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?”

It was funny, Enjolras thought to himself resignedly, but he had the oddest premonition that the meeting would not be particularly productive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and you get a meltdown! and you get a meltdown! and you get a meltdown!
> 
> EVERYBODY GETS A MELTDOWN!
> 
> (also, not to, uh, not to brag, but i definitely managed to fit in a line about marius' passionate nostrils. and that's the only reason i'm writing this anyway, so, uh - go me!)


	3. Be Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got two very lovely, very kind messages the other day - this chapter would not have been written if it weren't for them, so thank you, darlings. it means a lot <3
> 
> in any case, we continue on our way to the meltdown. i couldn't do this bit without directly quoting the brick. i'm not even a little bit sorry.

Grantaire liked to be early, not just because it gave him ample time to sketch (and if Enjolras was the only person at Musain’s besides Musichetta and Irma, and he really needed to focus on the male figure, well, you know, art is sacrifice), but also because it was nice, seeing his friends come in, being able to greet them and watch them and heckle them if the mood so struck. It made him feel surrounded. Protected almost. And protective, too. He mouthed off a lot, sure, but he’d learned his friends the way one might learn a favorite book, and he read them just as easily. Granted, Cosette had only been a part of the group for a few weeks, but anyone could have picked up on the aura of tension that hovered about her like a veritable cloud of black electricity. She was on the phone when she stumbled in, just a few minutes after Grantaire, and Musichetta exchanged a surprised look with him as the petite girl slumped into a seat, free hand massaging her temple

 “I know, Toussaint, I know – no, I’m really sorry, I completely understand – okay…okay. No, I totally get it, it’s fantastic. I’ll – yes. Yeah, I will definitely do that. All right? All right. No worries, Toussaint, really, and have a good time.” She hung up, stared at the ceiling as if it had done her a grievous wrong, and huffed.

“Everything all right?” Musichetta ventured. She shrugged, and it was a little frightening, to be quite honest; he’d never seen her frown, not really, and this was perhaps the longest he’d seen her go without blushing or smiling or beckoning baby deer with her voice.

“My practice accompanist,” she explained miserably. “Her boyfriend surprised her with a trip to Spain. Which, you know, great for her, but I’ve got a concert in two weeks, and I don’t really know anyone else…” She dwindled off, biting her lip.

“Yeah, but you’re in the music department,” Chetta said bracingly. “Surely – ”

“I have talked to a grand total of three people in my department,” Cosette snapped, and _holy shit_. “And one of them was a teacher, so I’m not entirely sure it counts.”

Suddenly, Musain’s was very, very quiet.

“Um. I’m sorry,” Cosette said after a moment, turning steadily red. “That was a little. I don’t know what that was.”

“Do you need an accompanist?” Grantaire asked.

“Yes – I know, just buck up and – ”

“Then I will be your accompanist,” Grantaire finished, and Cosette blinked rapidly several times.

“Really?”

Grantaire nodded.

“Yeah, sure. Jehan’s always needing someone to play for him, so if it’s anything Sondheim, I’ve pretty much got it memorized.” He grinned. “In all seriousness, though, my mom made me take lessons until I graduated, so I can plunk out a melody if you need me to.”

“Grantaire,” Cosette started, looking horribly close to tears, but Combeferre, Feuilly, Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras entered then, and she immediately ducked down into her purse, cheeks reddening. And this was her mistake, Grantaire thought affectionately, because Jehan could sense a blush from a mile off – his own cheeks pink, Jehan all but plastered himself against Cosette.

“Hi,” he said solemnly. “You need to come back to our place after the meeting. I _bawled_ during the season two finale, you were absolutely right.”

“He did,” Courfeyrac confirmed, and Jehan glared at him.

“Oh, like you didn’t tear up, too – ”

“I’m probably just going to go home, guys, sorry,” Cosette interrupted. Jehan’s face fell.

“Your dad’s staying the night?” he guessed, and Cosette winced.

“No, he went back home.” _And there’s a story there,_ Grantaire thought, but held his tongue. She hesitated. “Um, if you guys would not tell Marius my dad was in town, I would appreciate it. It was a super short visit, and I don't want his feelings to be hurt.” Feuilly and Combeferre exchanged a glance. Cosette flashed them all a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I would love to come, really, it’s just I’ve got some stuff to do – laundry stuff. And studying. Maybe. We’ll see.”

“You and Feuilly are the only people I know who actually study when exams are over,” Jehan muttered. “If you can’t come, don’t worry about it, but the offer still stands, all right?” He planted a kiss on her cheek, and she blushed harder. Her eyes also looked a little brighter, but maybe that was the light.

“And not to pressure you or anything, but Combeferre and I are cooking tonight,” Feuilly added. “And you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Combeferre’s risotto. It’s a bit ridiculous.” Musichetta caught Grantaire’s eye and grinned.

“I may just have to invite myself over, then,” she said warningly. “I’ll get that recipe out of you one day, Combeferre.”

“Not a chance,” Combeferre replied, but he was grinning.

They bantered easily for a while, waiting for everyone to arrive. Eponine, unsurprisingly, didn’t show – she’d mentioned something about Montparnasse and a party, which was probably not good, but there wasn’t a whole lot to be done. She’d flipped her shit on Bahorel when he’d jokingly suggested she take him on as her bodyguard.

“I don’t need protecting,” she’d snapped. “Fuck off.” And everyone had backed off, because Eponine could be a terror when the inclination so struck her, and she _was_ right: she could take care of herself. But any party Montparnasse went to was sure to be nasty, and if Grantaire thought it was too much, it was too much. He’d only been blackout drunk three times in his life: before his mother’s funeral, during a particularly bad spell freshman year of college, and that one time some creep named Claquesous had invited him over to Montparnasse’s. Which, you know, also during freshmen year when he was arguably an even bigger idiot than he was now, but still. Those parties were fucked up.

Marius didn’t attend either. Grantaire wondered if that was part of the problem. Cosette almost seemed relieved.

Combeferre called the meeting to order, and within thirty seconds, Grantaire knew that things were going to go south.

“We’re going over safety protocol tonight,” Combeferre announced. “We’ve got a week. And while our intention is to protest in a peaceful, reasonable manner, we can’t speak for the other groups that will be there, or, for that matter, the police.”

 _Has there ever been a protest we’ve been to that didn’t end up getting rough?_ Grantaire thought irritably. _We go over this shit every time and Courfeyrac still gets his nose broken or Bahorel cracks a rib or Enjolras ends up with a black eye._

He managed to stay silent through the first couple of tips – “If you have a lawyer, write their name on your arm. If not, ask for one immediately. Whatever you do, _do not talk_. Just keep quiet, and Courfeyrac or I will be there to pick you up,” and “The agreed meeting place is Enjolras’ apartment. I’m pretty sure everyone knows where it is, but make sure you have a ride. We’re only taking three cars this time.” – but when Enjolras started to add his input, all of Grantaire’s self-control went out the window and crossed the goddamn street before taking a taxi to Oh, Fuck This.

“Under no circumstances should anyone punch or provoke a cop. No matter what,” their fearless leader said emphatically, and Grantaire's brain nearly short-circuited.

“Are you being serious right now?” he demanded. “This coming from _you_.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras started, looking careworn, but no, no, this was ridiculous.

“You do nothing but provoke cops at these things,” Grantaire reminded him. “You stand up there and shout about equality and justice and police brutality – ”

“It’s a valid issue,” Enjolras said coldly. Grantaire threw up his hands.

“All right, fine, it’s a valid issue,” he laughed, although he didn’t find this even remotely funny. At least three people got hurt every time the ABC’s went out to try and save the world, but Enjolras invariably suffered the worst of it. Because he was the ringleader. Because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut when he got in over his head (not unlike Grantaire, actually, given the way the Musain had gone awfully quiet and even Cosette was staring). “But if you’re not going to follow your own advice – it’s _hypocritical_ , Apollo.” He tried to keep his voice light and mocking; as with most things, he failed miserably. “I thought you were against that sort of thing.”

“Right, okay,” Courfeyrac cut in hastily after an excrutiating beat. “Enjolras is right, don’t punch cops – actually, don’t punch anybody, that’s not what we’re there for _Bahorel_.” Bahorel chucked a balled up napkin at him. The air got a little easier to breathe, tension-wise, but Grantaire’s hand itched for a bottle. “No, but seriously, these things can get kind of chaotic. You guys know that. Um, Cosette, you’re new to this. Any questions?”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac gently badgered Cosette for a while, and Grantaire settled back into his seat, peeved. His phone buzzed.

 _I do not like that nickname,_ Enjolras had texted. Grantaire raised his eyebrows.

 _would u prefer snookums?_ he shot back. _or babycakes, or ooo my delicate revolutionary flower? i like that one ngl._

_This is an important meeting – all of them are, however you choose to behave, but this one especially – and I do not have time to engage with you tonight. If you want to be a nuisance, fine. Do it on your own time._

And somehow, Grantaire couldn’t respond to that with sarcasm. _Or_ honesty, for that matter. Deflated, he contented himself with doodling increasingly violent cartoons on his napkin, now officially aching for a drink, and a little pissed off – at himself, mostly, but also very much at Enjolras, because people were going to get _hurt_. He wasn’t just saying this for his own benefit.

“One more thing,” Enjolras said as the meeting came to a close. “I need someone to go by the Du Maine Center – Marius was going to do it, but, well.” Grantaire eyed Cosette for a reaction. Nothing. Enjolras looked around expectantly. “Do I have any volunteers?" To his horror, Grantaire realized his mouth was opening before he'd really had a chance toconsider just what, exactly, he was doing (although there was a part of him, tiny and ferocious that snapped, _Be a nuisance on your own time? You're just going to take that?_ while another part of his brain muttered, _Uh, yeah?)._

“Me,” he heard himself say. He wasn’t the only one he’d surprised.

“You?” Enjolras repeated, and something in his tone – a nasty sort of incredulity – made Grantaire sit up a little straighter in his seat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me.”

“You want to do this,” Enjolras said after a moment, brow furrowed. “You think you can do this.” It was a statement, not a question, but the doubt stung nonetheless.

“Oh, I can,” Grantaire assured him. “I can walk across the quad and take a left at the observatory and bam! Du Maine Center. Not that hard, even for me. My shoes can handle it, thanks for the concern, and so, O fearless leader, can I.”

“Do you even know anybody over there?” Enjolras asked slowly. Grantaire could feel everyone’s eyes swing to him, and his cheeks burned.

“Sure I do. Occasionally, I deign to attend a class or two.”

“What would you say to them?”

Grantaire’s jaw clenched.

“Oh, for God’s – I’m not a complete idiot, you know. I watch the news and I know who my representatives are and wow, I might’ve even picked up a book or two in the last year. I can go on and on about the Voting Rights Act at the drop of a hat, and feel free to quiz me on my rights right here, right now – between morbid curiosity and you all, I might as well be a fucking constitutional scholar. Most importantly, though, my ability to detect bullshit is only surpassed by my ability to spout it. You want me to wax poetic about the Social Contract? Done. Sociological implications of Fanny Mae and Freddie Mac? Signed, sealed, delivered. If there’s anything I can do, _Apollo_ , it’s run my mouth off. Start the clock.”

“Be serious,” Enjolras warned him.

“I am _wild_ ,” Grantaire retorted, and flashed him a feral grin to prove it.

Enjolras looked at him for a long moment. Everyone held their breath.

“Okay,” he said at last, and Grantaire resisted the urge to ask, _Really?_ “I’ll take you up on your offer." He frowned, but he seemed more bemused than anything. "Don’t forget, Grantaire. It has to be done by tomorrow.”

“That’s a mistake,” Irma muttered from the bar. Musichetta smacked her arm. Grantaire dug around in his bag, something not unlike defiance – a kind of passion, a focus – burning in his chest. He whipped out his beanie (red, one that he’d bought on a whim), and fixed it firmly on his head.

“Be easy,” he crooned, and two spots of color appeared on Enjolras’ cheeks.

The meeting ended and everyone trickled out, but Grantaire’s chest still burned.

 _Don’t fuck this up_ , he thought, and almost laughed, because it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Oh, well.

Too late now.

~

Courfeyrac to Marius, 11:32 PM:

                communication is a beautiful thing.

Courfeyrac to Marius, 11:41 PM:

                mariuuuuuuuuuus

Courfeyrac to Marius, 11:47 PM:

                ???

Courfeyrac to Marius, 11:58 AM:

                well ok fine then just letting you kno that i’m staying the night w enjolras. to plan that protest ur still going to.

Courfeyrac to Marius, 12:00 AM:

                rite?

Courfeyrac to Marius, 12:01 AM:

                marius?

~

Enjolras to Grantaire – email draft written under the guise of typing out instructions while Courfeyrac rummaged through the fridge for food:

Thank you for

(delete)

I really appreciate you

(delete)

I’m giving you a chance, Grantaire, so

(delete)

_Are you sure you want to leave this page? Any changes you have made may not be saved._

The computer shuts off.


	4. Daughter of a Wolf and Also Some Swearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know when this fic turned into an eponine and cosette appreciation fic, but i don't mind it a bit, y'all.
> 
> my goodness, i am so sorry for the wait!

There were things that were fair, and then there was being woken up at three in the fucking morning to a drunk call from her sister.

“Ponine,” Azelma mumbled into the phone. “Ponine, can you pick me up?”

Eponine groped for her alarm clock, turned it towards her, and swore under her breath.

“Jesus Christ, Azelma, do you know what time it is?”

“Please, Ponine, I need a ride,” Azelma insisted, and there was a wobble to her voice that did not bode well for Eponine’s chances of getting more than five hours of sleep. “Parnasse – ”

“Don’t say it, I’m coming, just stay put,” Eponine snapped, rolling out of bed. She fumbled blindly in the dark for a jacket and jeans and briefly considered trying to locate a bra before giving up. “Where are you, Azelma?”

“Patron-Minette,” her sister whispered, naming the building where most of her father’s contacts and cronies and creeps called home. “I’m in the bathroom. Clasquesous showed up, and Bamatabois – it just got really fucked up really quickly, _please_ hurry, Ponine.”

Eponine’s stomach went cold.

“Define ‘fucked up,’” she muttered, grabbing her purse and setting off for the front door at a jog.

“Just come and get me,” her sister pleaded and it had been a long time since Azelma had sounded this young.

“Azelma – ” Eponine started to say, but the line went dead. Azelma had hung up. Eponine swore again.

“Where are you going?” a voice asked from the couch and Eponine swallowed a shriek. Grantaire and Jehan were lounging on the sofa, their legs tangled together and the cloyingly sweet smell of marijuana smoke clinging to their clothes. Jehan, eyes reddened, propped himself up.

“What are you doing here?” Eponine hissed. “It’s three in the morning!”

“It’s the only time to do this!” Jehan cried. Grantaire turned his head into the cushions, giggling uncontrollably. “It’s three in the morning! The witching hour!” Eponine dug around in her purse for her keys. There were times when she loved her friends, and then there were times like these, when she loved them, but oh, her hands would look really great around their necks.

“Shut up,” she whispered heatedly, finagling the keys out at last. “People are trying to sleep.” _Not me, oh, no, never mind work tomorrow_ (But somewhere under her frustration, her heart pounded, because if Bamatabois touched her sister, she’d kill him, she’d murder him, and no one would ever find the body). “I’m going out for a bit, _try_ not to do anything stupid.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Grantaire declared, then collapsed into another fit of giggles. Eponine slammed the door shut behind her.

~

She tried calling Azelma, but the other girl refused to pick up, and the closer she got to the party, the more anxious Eponine became. Montparnasse’s parties were fun until they weren’t, and then they really, _really_ weren’t.

This much was evident as she pushed her way into Montparnasse’s apartment. The entire floor had been taken over – not unlike the last party Eponine had attended and regretted until one o’clock the next day – and it seemed every door in the cramped hallway led to some through-the-mirror debauchery, but Azelma wouldn’t have locked herself in any of the rooms except Montparnasse’s. Whatever his motivations, Montparnasse wouldn’t let anyone touch any of the Thenardier brood; that Azelma had felt threatened enough to call…well. Fun until they weren’t.

She shoved her way through the teeming throng of people, ignoring hands that slid off her body as she fought her way to the bathroom. The air hung with smoke and sweat, and not for the first time, Eponine found herself comparing her world to the world of her friends. _Enjolras can go on and on all he wants about the “degradation of the poor” and “classism” and all that bullshit but he doesn’t understand this. None of them do, not even Feuilly._

“Wolf Girl! I thought you weren’t coming!” a voice cried, and Eponine winced.

“Montparnasse,” she replied, trying to squirm away. Undeterred, her boyfriend – is that was this relationship was? – slipped through the crowd like a shadow, easily, sinuously. He’d had plenty of practice. Arms wrapped around her middle, and she found herself pressed back to stomach with Montparnasse. Her fingernails scrabbled for a nerve to pinch and found one. Montparnasse let go of her with a yelp.

“What’s the matter, Wolf Girl? I haven’t seen you in days.” Eponine turned to face him.

“I’m here to pick up Azlema,” she informed him. He narrowed his eyes at her; they were blown wide and just this side of unfocused, but his gaze still had the power to hypnotize. “I’ve been busy.”

“With your revolutionary friends,” he guessed, something ugly in the curl of his mouth.

“I’m with you more than I’m with them,” Eponine reminded him. Montparnasse didn’t look convinced, but Bamatabois draped himself onto his neck then, grinning obscenely, and Eponine seized the chance to wriggle away.

She knocked on the bathroom door, shooting a very involved couple a slow-burning glare until they untangled their limbs and found another spot to rut against each other.

“’Zelma?” she asked, knocking again. “Open the door, it’s me. It’s time to go.”

The door cracked open, revealing runny mascara that had been hastily redone.

“Ponine,” her sister whispered. Eponine tugged her out, keeping a firm grip on her wrist as she led her through the crowd back to the door.

“Where are you going, Wolf Girl?” Montparnasse called, shrugging Bamatabois off at last. “Hey – hey, Eponine!”

Eponine swore but ignored him, pulling Azelma closer. Clasquesous and Gueulemer, another one of her father’s less savory acquaintances, fell in beside her, brushing shoulders with hers. She grit her teeth and shoved harder, fingers so tight on Azelma’s wrist that her sister was whimpering, twisting her hand in a futile attempt to loosen Eponine’s grip.

“Back off,” she growled.

“Your dad wants to know where you’re taking Gavroche all the time. He wants to know why some rich kid keeps picking him up.”

“Because my father cares _so much_ for Gavroche’s safety.”

“He wants to know, little girl. I wouldn’t be so smart.”

Azelma crowded close to Eponine, but she bared her teeth at Babet, who had also appeared to harass them. _Only a few feet left._

“Where do you go? To Musain’s?”

“Get out of my fucking face,” Eponine snarled. She elbowed her way through the remaining few people, but found the door blocked by Bamatabois. 

“Where’re you going, Z?” he cooed at Azelma, and all the fight went out of her sister in one tiny, strangled noise. _She’s shaking,_ Eponine thought, completely thrown off. Azelma didn’t shake. Azelma gave as good as she got, Azelma wasn’t scared, Azelma didn’t call her sister in the middle of the night, because Azelma could handle whatever it was on her own. Bamatabois made a vulgar gesture with his tongue. “I thought we were going to have some fun – ”

Eponine pulled back her fist, felt it crunch into Bamatabois’ nose, and thought, _I think I’m going to punch him. Oh._

He swore, falling back against the door.

“You little bitch,” he yelled, eyes streaming. “I’ll fucking kill you, you little – ”

“I’d watch out if I were you. Ponine’s not one to fuck around with,” Montparnasse said coolly and Bamatabois shut up – though maybe that was the pocketknife at his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed under the thin blade. Montparnasse grinned. “Sorry to see you dash, Wolf Girl – see you around?”

“See you around,” Eponine replied, meeting his eyes. She didn’t know what she expected to find there – concern, maybe? – but he looked as he always did: impeccably dressed, half-mocking, and dangerous.  Her focus needed to be Azelma now, anyhow – three in the morning, three in the morning, at what point in her life had this become her life? She pushed a moaning Bamatabois out of the way (and if the knife nicked him a bit as a result, well, Merry Fucking Christmas), huddling Azelma out the door. Her sister was silent all the way out to the car.

“Where are you taking me?” was all she asked.

“Back to my place, duh,” Eponine replied.

Her sister leaned her temple against the window and closed her eyes. Eponine made it five minutes before she cracked.

“What happened?”

“I’m really tired.”

“Did he touch you?”

“Ponine.”

“Because I’ll fucking kill him,” Eponine promised. “I will, ‘Zelma.” That earned a smile from her sister, wry and indulging and her eyes were still closed, but it was better than nothing.

“I know you will,” she said quietly, and flicked red eyes – whether from the crying or the party – at Eponine briefly.

To Eponine’s horror, her throat tightened painfully. She snuck her hand into Azelma’s clumsily, squeezing tight. Her sister squeezed back.

“You’re damn right I will,” she murmured, and drove one-handed the rest of the way home (what Musichetta didn’t know couldn’t hurt her).

~

Grantaire woke up to Jehan snoring on his chest, a growling stomach, and Bahorel glowering at him from the kitchen.

“I made scrambled eggs,” he said, and despite the innocuous enough comment, Grantaire broke out in a cold sweat.

“Okay,” he replied.  “Thanks.” Bahorel narrowed his eyes at him and spooned the eggs out onto a plate, somehow managing to do so in a manner that made Grantaire want to sink into the cushions of the couch and wait for death. Instead, he gingerly untangled himself from Jehan and yawned. There would be plenty of time to figure out how he’d fucked up this time later. Scary Bahorel or no Scary Bahorel, those eggs smelled fantastic.

He hadn’t managed to snag a bite, however, when Eponine marched in, with – _wait, what?_ – Azelma in tow.

“Any comments and I break your faces,” Eponine announced. Bahorel momentarily forgot whatever it was he was mad at Grantaire for and blinked at him. Grantaire blinked back. “Understood?”

Grantaire and Bahorel mumbled their agreement, but Eponine rounded on Grantaire, swift and without warning.

“No. Comments,” she emphasized, eyebrows raised. Grantaire put up his hands in self-defense.

“Fine, fine. Jeez.” Making a face at Eponine, he added, cloyingly contrite, “Nice to see you, Azelma.”

Azelma looked torn between being fond and being annoyed.

“Always a pleasure,” she muttered. “Are those eggs for all of us?”

While everyone settled in for breakfast (saving Jehan, who could sleep through anything and snore like a diesel engine while he was at it), Grantaire slipped back to his bedroom. A quick glance at the clock – he’d gotten up before ten, yes, excellent, making good decisions, Grantaire – and a few moments of rummaging around the room to find some relatively paint-free clothing. First, he would accompany Cosette for a while (the concert was for a local charity, oh, my _God_ , could she get any more _sickeningly_ perfect?), and then he’d drop by the Du Maine Center, see what he could do to further the Grand and Noble Cause.

No one seemed to notice when he slipped out the front door – Jehan was still out cold, and Eponine was too busy hovering over Azelma to do much else _. I’ll get whatever happened out of her later_ , he thought grumpily, watching Azelma hunch her shoulders, trying to squirm away from her sister’s ministrations. _And I guess I’ll figure out why Bahorel is mad at me later, too_ , he added with a sigh. Bahorel shot a glare at him. Grantaire stuck his tongue out and left.

The practice rooms were in the Gorbeau Building, and he found Cosette already warming up. He stretched his hands, played around a bit; he’d hated piano lessons with a passion, but he had to admit, they had come in handy far more than he’d thought they would.

Cosette jumped right in, and Grantaire nearly tripped over his fingers. For such a tiny human being, Cosette had a voice that could fill the room and then some, equal parts clear, bright, and strong. It was a shame, then, that Cosette didn’t seem to realize that.

 “ _Drat_ ,” she hissed for the umpteenth time. It was a tricky, tricky piece, and Cosette was doing it beautifully, but they’d been stopping and starting for an hour. “I’m sorry, Grantaire, can we try it again?” Grantaire flipped back a page to give her a running start, but while he rested his fingers on the key, he made no move to play. For one thing, he could see the tendons in her neck. For another, the note had sounded perfectly fine to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?” he asked. “Tosca isn’t easy.”

“I can do it,” Cosette muttered, moving to stand behind him so she could peer at the score, a little desperately. “I could hit this last week, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Stress?” Grantaire guessed. She thumped him on the head, and he recoiled, shooting her a wounded look.

He led her in gently, and she picked it up without a problem, but as they approached the problem bars, Cosette waved her hands, scowling.

“Drat it, drat it, drat it,” she snapped. Grantaire cocked his head at her.

“Look, let’s take a break – ”

“I’ve got to get this – ”

“ – and you have it, Cosette, but you’re scaring me a little here – ”

“ – let’s just start at – ”

Grantaire railroaded her shamelessly, persisting over her protestations, “I’m just saying that you seem a little tense. And if you continue to push it, you’re going to rip your vocal chords to shreds and get nodes and never sing again, ever, so, you know. Up to you. It’s your life and all that.” He played a Billy Joel-esque chord, raising his eyebrows at her.

Cosette stared at him for a moment, then promptly burst into tears.

Grantaire gulped.

“Shit!” he cried, frozen in horror. “Shit. Oh, _shit_ , no, I didn’t mean it - don’t cry, I’m an asshole, okay, it’s what I do, I’m sorry, your vocal chords will be fine, you’re right, we can start at measure seventy-seven – do you want a hug?” Cosette cried harder. “I’m going to – oh, fuck, oh, _shit_ , Cosette, I really am sorry.”

“Not you,” Cosette managed to choke out. “Just – give me a sec – a second.”

Grantaire waited, knotting his hands in his lap, feeling, not for the first time, very much out of his league. Cosette sat beside him, hiccupping and making generally awful noises, and, gingerly, he put an arm around her. With a little hitched breath, she tucked her head under his chin.

“I don’t know what this is,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what this is.”

“Um, it’s fine, Cosette. Let it out, yeah?”

“But I don’t – I don’t know _what_ I’m letting out.”

“Well, it’s clearly something,” Grantaire pointed out and Cosette wailed.

“I don’t – I’ve never – _I don’t know what this is_ , and I’m sorry, I’m getting your shirt wet, shit, shit, shit, fuck, tits, _balls_.” Grantaire choked.

“Uh – ”

“Mother _fucker!_ ” Cosette cried, and Grantaire began to laugh in spite of himself. Cosette cried harder, and he tried to sober up, he really did, but he couldn’t stop.

“I have never met anyone,” he laughed, “who swears so adorably.”

“My mom wants to meet me,” Cosette blurted into his chest. Grantaire’s brain stopped, rewound, and tried again.

“What?”

“My mom.” She bit her lip, took one look at the blank expression on Grantaire’s face, then buried her face in her hands. “She wants to _meet_ me.”

“And you and she don’t get along?” Grantaire guessed. Cosette shook her head, still hidden in her hands.

“She and I have never met,” she corrected him, and this time Grantaire’s brain stumbled.

“Oh,” he said. “ _Oh_.”

And Cosette began to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can tell me if montparnasse is going to end up ultimately good in this or ultimately bad, i'll bake you brownies, because i honestly have nooooo idea.


	5. A Great Deal of Shouting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this took forever to meld into one semi-cohesive chunk. here we go, meltdowns at last!

                                                                                                                                            The Night Before the Protest 

_~_

_Hi, it's -_

_(a giggle. Something that sounds like a muffled, "Marius, stop it!")_

_It's Cosette. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Here comes the beep!_

_(a beep)_

_Hi. Hi, Cosette - your dad told me you still like to be called that, not Euphrasie. Um. Hi. This is your m - this is Fantine._

_I don't want to - I know this is all very sudden, and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. This isn't how I wanted this to go. And please don't take this call as me trying to - trying to pressure you into anything. This is completely your choice, and I'll respect whatever you want to do. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in town soon. If you wanted to meet for coffee or something? It's fine either way. Your dad said, um, mentioned a concert. I'd love to hear you sing. If you're okay with me being there._

_(a long, shaky pause)_

_Anyway, Cosette. Sorry to catch you when you're out. Your dad's got my number if you need to reach me. Thanks._

_Goodbye._

_~_

"Yeah, yeah, no, that's fine. Yeah, totally. Um. Yeah, okay. All right."

Courfeyrac grit his teeth. Marius had been on the phone with Cosette for less than two minutes, but already his syntax had deteriorated to abysmal levels of banality, and Courfeyrac was just so, so not in the mood.

"Yeah. Yeah…Yeah. Okay. Bye."

Marius wandered into the kitchen, looking despondent. Courfeyrac resisted the urge to chuck a couch cushion at him. It had been six months. He was pretty sure they were in love. "Pretty sure" meaning "definitely," and "definitely" meaning "hopelessly, utterly, stupidly." Marius needed to chill. 

"She avoided me all day," he confessed to Courfeyrac unhappily. _Case in point_. "Don't you think she was acting weird?"

"I haven't really noticed anything," Courfeyrac replied. Éponine hadn't texted him back about picking up Gavroche for the meeting today - Gav had mentioned something about soccer practice, but Courfeyrac didn't think he played soccer, and if Monparnasshole had decided to enlist Gavroche's services again, Éponine was going to lose it and Courfeyrac was going to lose it and with the protest tomorrow, losing it wasn't an option. He mused aloud, fiddling with his phone, "I mean, she seemed a little down, but it wasn't exclusively around you or anything. Do you think she's nervous about the protest?" _Maybe that's it. Gav doesn't need to be at the protest, so he doesn't need to be at the meeting tonight. Ponine won't want him there._

"I doubt it, since she spends so much time talking about it with Enjolras," Marius said with just a touch of bitterness. His friend rolled his eyes.

"You could try coming to a few more meetings." Marius sank lower into the couch, the dreaded Pontmercy sulk settling in like a black cloud over his pretty ginger head. "God, Enjolras goes off on you once - once! - and you get all..." He slapped a hand to his chest, tossing his hair imperiously before dropping the offended Southern belle act and outright glaring at Marius. "Do you know how many times he's flipped on me? Jesus, just think how many times he's ripped Grantaire a new one."

"Combeferre got involved, too, as I recall - "

"Let it go! So Cosette's made some new friends besides you - that's a good thing, Marius. You're a dork for her, she's a dork for you, stop overanalyzing everything and just be happy. I swear to God."

Marius scowled at him.

"I'll see you at the meeting tonight," he informed Courfeyrac tetchily. "I've got - stuff to do."

"Fine, go," Courfeyrac snapped. "See you later."

"Bye."

"Bye."

The door slammed behind him. On the couch, Courfeyrac ground his teeth. All right, so maybe he hadn't handled that as well as he could have, but the protest was so close, and fighting with Éponine had put him in a spectacularly bad mood, and it wouldn't kill Marius to go deal with something on his own. He'd been in a funk since his grandfather called, and he had every right to be, but for once - just this once - Courfeyrac wished that he was not the one handling all the drama. Okay, so technically Combeferre was their resident therapist, but still. Courfeyrac put up with a lot.

It became very apparent very quickly that this would be only the tip of the iceberg.

~

The moment Courfeyrac stepped into Musain’s, he knew something was wrong.

Grantaire was sitting at the piano, lightly brushing his fingers against the keys without pressing them down. He had his red beanie on again, but it was tugged low on his forehead so that his curls masked his eyes. Cosette sat alone as she hadn’t for weeks – he thought they’d broken her of that habit – staring at the screen of her phone like it was the face of a bitter lover. Speaking of bitter lovers, Marius hovered just behind her, hands shoved in his pockets. He shot Courfeyrac an accusing look as if to say, “You see?” a look that only darkened as Cosette stowed her phone away and went to talk quietly with Grantaire. She seemed to be the only one who wanted to do so – Bahorel fixed their resident cynic with what the rest of the group had privately dubbed his Scary Face. Courfeyrac winced. Scary Bahorel added to protest tomorrow equaled atom bomb. Musichetta caught his eye from behind the bar.

“Do you know what’s going on?” she mouthed. He shook his head. She bit her lip and jerked her head questioningly towards the piano, where Grantaire and Cosette had their heads together.  He shook his head again. “Go find out,” she mouthed more emphatically, and fled to the kitchen. Courfeyrac resisted the urge to join her.

“So, things seem a little tense,” he commented under his breath to Combeferre. Combeferre nodded slowly, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“Enjolras has been glaring at the wall for the past fifteen minutes,” he replied quietly. “I don’t think he’s blinked once.” Together they surveyed their fearless leader, who was indeed glowering at the wall as if it had done him a great personal wrong. In tandem, they cocked their heads to the right.

“You know, we have a protest tomorrow,” Courfeyrac remarked. Combeferre slid off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and groaned.  “Maybe we should go out to dinner tonight or something. Have a little fun, get pumped up for tomorrow. Do you think it’s a good idea?” Combeferre put his glasses back on with a slight shrug.

“It’s worth a shot.”

Feuilly showed up, then Éponine and – oh, God, something was _definitely_ wrong – Azelma. Éponine wasn’t touching Azelma, per se, but she gave off an air of a mother tigress, circling and snarling at anyone who dared come near. Azelma, on the other hand, looked as if she’d about had it. _You and me both, kid_ , Courfeyrac thought, and he hastily ducked his head down, pretending to read a text on his phone when Éponine glanced at him. Azelma was with her - that explained the radio silence. This was not good.

Combeferre called the meeting to order, and Courfeyrac chewed absentmindedly on his pen, hoping that this last meeting would dispel whatever weird tension was hanging about.

"Tonight I'd like to talk about commitment," Enjolras announced, and the pen fell out of Courfeyrac's mouth.

~

Éponine didn't know how they'd managed to get from passive aggressive bullshit to actual arguing, but they weren't twenty minutes in and - voila! - Enjolras and Grantaire were at it again. Only this time it was different. This time, Éponine thought uncomfortably, it felt like they meant it.

She was a bit behind, but the gist of it seemed to be that Grantaire was supposed to do something but didn't, which was totally the norm - she didn't quite get why Enjolras is so upset, but he _was_ , he was _really upset_.

"I saw you," Enjolras all but hissed - Courfeyrac shot a wide-eyed look at Combeferre, who moved as if to go to Enjolras but changed his mind at the last minute. "Their support could be the difference between this working and this - "

"I don't think - " Grantaire started, but suddenly, Enjolras used his rally-voice, the one that rang against the walls and stopped people in their tracks. Sometimes, Éponine thought, a little stunned, she forgot that this uppity white boy could yell like that. 

"Would you just _listen_ , Grantaire, for once in your life?" He was actually flushed; something had gotten under their fearless leader's skin, something (or someone, Éponine suspected) with messy black curls and too-dark bruises under his eyes, someone who was currently doing his best to make himself as small as possible in his chair. 

"I trusted you - and that was my own mistake, I should have known better - and now we are short at least twenty people. Do you know what that could mean for tomorrow? How that changes things?" Grantaire crossed his arms, more defense than defiance. 

"I - "

"No, don't," Enjolras cut him off. "I don't want apologies, I don't want excuses, I get enough of those from you as it is." His jaw tightened. "Don't come tomorrow. You've made it clear where you stand with this group, and quite frankly, you're a liability."

Jehan's mouth fell open, but he stayed silent. Grantaire, however, stared at Enjolras for a long, painful moment.

"Let me stay."

"You'll drag us down," Enjolras said coldly, and Éponine opened her mouth to snarl at Enjolras, temper flaring, but to her surprise, Cosette beat her to it. Éponine stared, amazed, as Cosette shot out of her chair, Disney Princess gone, replaced by what looked to be a very angry human being.

"Leave him alone," she snapped, and holy fuck, Cosette had some bite. "You've made your point, now back off."

"Cosette," Courfeyrac started, but she ignored him, eyes blazing. 

"You treat him differently from the others, Enjolras, admit it - "

"It's fine, Cosette," Grantaire mumbled.

"No, it's not!" Cosette cried. "He's been with us every step of the way, same as everyone else, and you can't just - just kick him out - "

"That's not - " Enjolras began, but Cosette threw him a look of such unbridled fury that his mouth snapped shut.

"How can you expect to make a difference if you can't even - "

"Cosette, it's _fine_ ," Grantaire exploded. Cosette recoiled, along with everyone else. Grantaire flushed. "It's fine," he repeated, calm if very, very cool. He stood, gathered up his sketchpad and bag, and nodded to Enjolras. "Sorry to disturb the sacred spirit of the Grand and Noble Cause. I'll go." And without another glance, he left, shoulders hunched and already fumbling for a cigarette.

Cosette made a move to follow him, but Marius snagged her wrist. She tugged away, face still stormy, and Marius sank a little lower in his seat.

"Meeting adjourned," Enjolras said in a clipped tone. He shuffled his notes, tucking them carefully into a folder, and after a moment, dazed and more than a little uncomfortable, everyone else followed suit.

"So, uh, so who wants to go out tonight?" Courfeyrac ventured lightly. Everyone muttered a vague affirmation - everyone except Enjolras, who slipped out the door, shoulders hunched in an odd echo of Grantaire's exit.

"Well, that was spectacular," Marius said quietly when he slid into the passenger's seat of Courfeyrac's car. He was Courfeyrac's only rider. Normally, everyone liked to pile into two cars tops (like revolutionary clown cars, Grantaire liked to say), but not tonight. Not tonight. Yikes.

"Where's Cosette?"

"Riding with Combeferre and Jehan." And there was something behind that, too, but Courfeyrac had no intention of touching it with a forty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.

"Gotcha."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, and Courfeyrac found himself worrying that perhaps their not-fight earlier had yet to be resolved. But every time Courfeyrac opened his mouth to address it, Marius shifted, leaning his forehead against the window, and Courfeyrac bit his tongue.

They arrived later than everyone else. Their customary booth was noticeably gloomy; Matelote took their orders with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.

"So," Bossuet ventured after a moment. 

"This is going to be a nightmare," Feuilly said bluntly. Jehan glared at him.

"No, it's not," he replied. "Grantaire always comes back, and Enjolras always cools down." Combeferre cleared his throat. "Let's change the subject," Jehan amended hastily. "Um, I think we need to have a movie marathon soon."

"Not _Downtown Abbey,_ " Courfeyrac said immediately. Jehan scowled at him.

"Firstly, it's _Downton_ , not 'Downtown.' Secondly, it's not a movie - and you totally liked it, don't even lie, you eat that stuff up. You would've come over even if Cosette's dad hadn't been in town, you always do when we have those marathons - remember that one time when you cried at _Mansfield Park_? Because I do. I definitely do. We have video proof, Courfeyrac. And you cried at _Sense and Sensibility_ , and you bawled during _Love, Actually_ , and don't get me started on what a mess you were during _Notting Hill_ \- "

"You're a liar, Jean Prouvaire, we watched _Notting Hill_ when I thought my allergies were going to fucking kill me AND EVERYONE CRIES AT _LOVE, ACTUALLY,_ OKAY, THE BOY AND HIS DAD ARE LIKE - " 

"Your dad was in town?" Marius asked Cosette abruptly. Cosette went very still, entire body tensing, and took a sip of her drink.

"Yes," she replied. "Not for long though."

"Oh," Marius said meaningfully. Suddenly, the table got very quiet.

"We had lunch," Cosette continued coolly. "It was nice."

"We still have to _Downton_ at some point," Jehan added nervously, clearly attempting to dissipate the rapidly burgeoning tension he'd unintentionally triggered. "We'll have to catch you up." He laughed, a borderline panicked sound. "The season two finale was rough. Oh, I cried."

"Yeah, but you cry at everything," Bahorel reminded him, utterly oblivious. "Not as bad as Courferyac, but you're pretty bad." Jehan responded with a solid punch to the larger man's arm that made Bahorel yelp. Courfeyrac kept his eyes on Marius, alarmed.

"So why didn't you tell me?" Marius asked, going for curious and only managing to sound accusing and hurt. 

"It was kind of sudden," Cosette explained with an edge to her voice.

"I see," Marius said. For a split-second, Cosette looked like she might burst into tears. Then her jaw hardened.

"Please excuse me," she said, quite evenly. Combeferre and Feuilly slid to let her out of the booth. She grabbed her purse - not a good sign, Courfeyrac thought unhappily, and evidently, Marius agreed, because within five minutes of Cosette leaving, he, too, excused himself.

"Looks like our Disney princess has a bit of Ice Queen in her," Bahorel remarked. After contemplating him solemnly for a beat, Jehan punched him again, harder and with grim intention. Bahorel rubbed his arm, eyeing the smaller boy appraisingly. 

"Well," Joly started brightly, but he dwindled off, sucking at the dregs of his water loudly. The conversation, officially stagnant, gave way to a new type of awkward silence, one where they all strained for the sounds of an argument that none of them could conceivably hear, but all were positive was going on.

"Should we check on them?" Musichetta asked uncertainly when fifteen minutes had passed. "Or...?"

"No," Combeferre said as Jehan and Courfeyrac tumbled out of their seats in their haste to get to the door.

"This is a bad idea," Bossuet called, sinking low in his seat. "Guys, I know bad ideas, and this is a bad idea - guys? Guys?" Musichetta stood abruptly, biting her lip, and though Joly made a grab for her wrist, she, too, was off.

"Here we go, Mama Tigress time," he muttered, and he and Bossuet followed her, leaving Feuilly, Bahorel, Éponine, and Combeferre to prod half-heartedly at their food.

"And then there were four," Feuilly sighed. Éponine put her fork down with a clatter.

"This group," Combeferre remarked at length, "has an unfortunate tendency toward co-dependency. It's probably not healthy at all." Bahorel eyed him for a moment before throwing his napkin down on the table like a gauntlet.

"Fuck that noise. Let's go."

"Really, really unhealthy," Combeferre muttered under his breath, but they all slid out of the booth anyway to join the rest of the group. They found them crowded in the waiting area, peering out the windows at the parking lot where Cosette and Marius stood a good five feet apart, both red-faced and tearful. Courfeyrac had the door cracked, and despite the muffled roar of the restaurant, it was all too easy to make out what their two friends were shouting at each other.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you anything!" Cosette was insisting. "Because I knew you'd react like this! It was nothing, Marius - he didn't even stay the whole day!"

"What I don't understand is if it wasn't a big deal, why couldn't you tell me about it? Why is it everyone knows but me?" 

"Not everyone knows, Marius, I just - I didn't - "

"You didn't want to tell me," Marius finished for her, and Cosette burst into fresh tears.

"Maybe I didn't!" she cried angrily. "Maybe you don't have to know everything about me, Marius, maybe I don't have to tell you everything, maybe I just need some space!" Marius' freckles went stark in the yellow streetlamp as his entire face drained of color.

"Fine," he croaked. "Fine. You're right. We should take a break." Cosette flinched as if she'd been slapped, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"Maybe we should," she snapped. Bahorel actually gasped, and whether it was the feeling of nine pairs of eyes watching on in horror or maybe just sheer, dumb luck, she glanced up then at where the ABC's all huddled at the window staring at her and her apparently ex-boyfriend.

She blinked. They blinked back. Marius followed her gaze and just sort of wilted.

"Shit," Jehan squeaked. "Shit, everybody just..."

"Act natural?" Combeferre whispered back tiredly.

"I really need a ride home," Cosette announced, only a little wobbly, and everyone squirmed.

"I've got you," Combeferre said quietly. She nodded, shooting Marius one last, furious look that did nothing to fool anyone, and shoved through the still-gaping Amis, muttering about running to the restroom. Marius stared after her as if half-tempted to call her back, but his face went stony as everyone averted their eyes.

"I think I'm going to head home, too," he said, defiant. "Courfeyrac, can I have the keys?"

"I'm kind of tired, too," Courfeyrac shrugged in a valiant attempt at normalcy that fell flat on its face. "Gimme five minutes." Marius didn't even argue; he just went to Courfeyrac's car and waited beside it, a sad, lost puppy. Courfeyrac winced.

"You guys should probably go back inside," he mouthed.

"Little late for that," Feuilly muttered under his breath, and Éponine agreed. It was funny - she'd daydreamed about this moment as soon as Marius had mentioned the pretty vocal student and, as petty as it was, had pictured this break-up in vivid, resentful detail. But now, even with Marius single once again, she only felt...tired. He wasn't going to give her an ounce of that kind of attention, with Cosette or without her, and Éponine had been stupid to think he would. More than stupid - she'd been wrong. Éponine had been wrong, and she couldn't help but want to follow Cosette, to make up for treating her so indifferently, which, Éponine thought uncomfortably, might have been worse than treating her cruelly. Or was there really a difference?

"I'll go check on her," she found herself saying, and both Musichetta and Courfeyrac turned to stare at her.

"I'll go with you," Chetta said immediately, narrowing her eyes when Éponine made no protest.

"Text me?" Courfeyrac asked miserably, and both girls nodded before exchanging a worried glance.

The rest of the Amis were congregated back at the table when Musichetta and Éponine returned. 

"Is she still - ?" Musichetta started to ask, and Bossuet and Joly both nodded.

"I think we can all agree that this was not a good night," Bahorel grumbled. "God. I'm gonna have to go home and fuckin' bake or something."

"Tell Cosette I'm ready when she is," Combeferre said quietly, and Éponine nodded.

"We will," she said firmly, taking Chetta's hand and leading the way toward the bathroom, but as they reached the door, Chetta dug in her heels with a frown.

"What is your objective here?" she asked bluntly. "Because you are not a fan of that girl, and you've made it pretty damn clear, and while I think you're being stupid, I've kept my mouth shut, because I understand how much this situation sucks for you, and also because you have ditched us all for Montparnasse and it was kind of a moot point, anyway." 

"I - " Éponine started to say, but her phone buzzed in her back pocket. Sighing, she made a face.

"I'll wait," Chetta said darkly. Éponine scowled at her.

"Hello?" she answered.

"I'm not really a fan of being stood up, Wolf Girl." 

Shit.

Éponine swallowed.

"I got tied up," she replied as coolly as she could. "Actually, I'm going to have to cancel. I've got something to do." She waited for him to respond, but she couldn't even hear him breathing, though his presence on the other line was as strong as if he were standing behind her. She grit her teeth, trying to ignore the way the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

"And what would that something be, darlin'?" Montparnasse inquired, quite calmly. Musichetta watched her, frowning.

"I need to help a friend," Éponine explained, and realized as she said it that it was true. "I've got to go. Be a good boy, Parnasse."

"When am I not?" Montparnasse wanted to know. "Don't make this a habit. My feelings might get hurt."

"Oh, fuck off, you big baby."

"I'm wounded, Ponine."

"And I'm hanging up."

She did with a scowl. Musichetta looked at her, an odd look on her face.

"We miss you," she said abruptly. She glanced at an inscription on the wall (Feuilly's actually, _Long live the peoples_ , what a dork), baleful. "We all do." Éponine opened her mouth, then closed it, startled. She supposed it was nice to know that she hadn't managed to ostracize herself completely from the group.

Uncomfortable, she muttered, "Let's go see how Cosette is doing," and swung open the restroom door before Musichetta could push the subject.

The bathroom was silent and looked deserted, but in the last stall, two forlorn shoes were just visible under the door.

"Cosette?" Chetta called tentatively. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," came the completely convincing reply, followed by a disgustingly slurpy sniffle. "I'll be out in a moment." Musichetta seemed inclined to leave it at that, but Éponine rolled her eyes.

"All right, open up," she ordered, knocking on the stall door. Cosette hesitated, and a tipsy sorority girl stumbled into the bathroom, giggling. Éponine shot her best death glare at her. "This bathroom is occupied," she informed her, and the sorority girl opened her mouth to argue, but shrank back a little as Éponine raised her eyebrows.

"This is a public restroom," she mumbled. Éponine blinked at her slowly, a look that had had hardened criminals suddenly discovering heretofore unmentioned places to be, and sorority girl went red and hastily fled. "Now," Éponine went on, returning her attention to the door, "let us in or I'm gonna jimmy the lock."

"Can these locks be jimmied?" Musichetta mouthed. Éponine glared at her. There came the sound of toilet paper being ripped, Cosette blew her nose, and the stall door cracked to reveal a puffy red face. She took one look at the two girls before her face crumpled and she slammed the stall door shut again.

"Is Combeferre - ?"

"He's ready to go when you are."

"I'm really - I'm really sorry - "

Musichetta winced. 

"Don't be. Please don't be. This is just. It'll be okay. Uh."

"What are you doing?" Éponine mouthed emphatically. Chetta made a bizarre flailing movement. 

"I don't know what to do, this is so weird," Musichetta mouthed back, a little panicked. Great. Fantastic. _I guess I'm on my own here_ , Éponine thought irritably. _Figures_.

"Look, Cosette," she said aloud, "you've gotta come out of the stall. We're going to Netflix the hell out of some horror movies and eat chocolate until we throw up, because that's what you do when shit like this happens. But you've got to unlock the door first."

"I don't like crying in front of people," Cosette mumbled sheepishly. "I'm sorry - "

"Stop apologizing, I swear to God," Éponine groaned. "I have three brothers, a little snot never hurt anyone - just open the door. I'm not kidding about jimmying the lock."

Silence.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Cosette asked after a moment, voice thick and tired. Éponine blinked.

"Yeah, no, this is not what being nice sounds like," Musichetta piped up, which, granted, was a valid point. "This is like - I mean no offense, but this is really..." She dwindled off. "You suck at this," she said at last, and Éponine heaved a sigh.

"In my own special way, I'm trying to apologize," she grumbled. "Take it at face value and come out of the stall."

She waited, half-unsure if Cosette would venture out after all.

"Can I go with you guys?" the other girl asked suddenly. "No offense to Combeferre, but he's probably got Enjolras to take care of since I - since I - "

"Enjolras deserved that a little bit," Musichetta interrupted grimly. "He always gets this way before protests, it's super annoying. Sure you can come with us. Right, Ponine?"

Éponine hesitated.

"Yeah," she said after a beat. "Yeah, come over to our place. Bahorel's going to bake apparently, and I think Grantaire's out for the night until at least two or three. Joly and Bossuet hate horror movies, so they won't bother us."

"And it wouldn't be, like - ?"

"You're coming with us," Éponine said firmly. No response from the stall.

Then: the very distinct click of a lock being unlocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told y'all.
> 
> in other news: i am officially a college student! yay! i hope i can still continue to update this silly, rambling fic in a somewhat timely fashion, but be patient with me, all right? you've stuck with me thus far - and i appreciate that so, so much, you've no idea. hang in there a little bit longer :)

**Author's Note:**

> those who give feedback have a special place in my heart with squishy armchairs and hot cocoa and hand-knitted sweaters.


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